


Pleasant Nightmares

by BelladonnaInBloom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Complicated Pining, F/F, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Masturbation, Sex Dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28041321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelladonnaInBloom/pseuds/BelladonnaInBloom
Summary: It’s five years after the end of the war and Hermione is the youngest Senior Prosecutor that the Ministry has ever seen. Rising so high so quickly wasn’t easy and it required sacrifices, sacrifices such as satisfaction in her love life… satisfaction in any part of her life.  But she’s holding it together, taking it day by day. Her tenuous grip on it all starts to unravel when a twist of fate sees her working on a project with Narcissa Malfoy.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 45
Collections: Dirty Granger Fest





	Pleasant Nightmares

_**September 1st** _

Hermione woke up as the dawn crossed her face and felt the sheets damp with sweat clinging uncomfortably to her body. Her heart pounded in her ears as thoughts of her unconcluded dream continued to plague her waking thoughts. 

Visions of hands around her rib cage, moans stuck in her throat and the silky decadence of lipstick marks clinging to her thighs.

This was not the first time Hermione had had this dream. It had been haunting her for three straight days now and she practically had the entire script memorized. Effortlessly, she could recall every flick of every finger, every strand of blonde hair on the head of the woman nestled between her thighs.

The woman’s face was always unclear; she never lifted her eyes to meet Hermione’s as she went about her task. She was a mystery, Hermione thought. But a nagging voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was certainly a mystery she was capable of solving. And the voice was annoyingly correct, for these dreams had started on the evening after she had seen Narcissa Malfoy in the halls of the Ministry of Magic. 

On that day, Hermione had fought to hide an audible scoff when she saw the woman stride confidently out of the Department for the Research and Betterment of Magical Creatures. Hermione thought Narcissa had little right to even step inside the department given her past. However, after the war and the subsequent death of her husband in Azkaban, Narcissa had made a nearly full-time and very public career of trying to reclaim her family’s good name. Hermione was sure she would read about some “good deed” she had performed for the department in the Prophet next week and roll her eyes at the hypocrisy.

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa had said as she passed, her stare icy and unreadable as always. 

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Hermione responded curtly with a nod, barely pausing to meet the woman’s gaze. Yet on an impulse, she found herself turning to watch Narcissa walk away, finding her attention captured by the woman’s commanding strides, her hair swinging down her back, effortlessly smooth. 

Hermione had struggled to shake the interaction from her mind. The more she thought about it, the more it infuriated her. She, herself the youngest Senior Prosecutor that the Ministry had ever hired, hardly walked the halls with so much assurance. Yet Narcissa could waltz out of the Magical Creatures Department of all places as if she owned every tile, feeling no sense of shame, not even of irony as she did so. No matter how far she had fallen, she managed to retain the practiced ease of someone used to getting her way, never having to fight too hard for the power she felt was deserved to her. As a Muggle-Born, Hermione had been clawing her way into recognition for all of her life and couldn’t imagine not feeling the need to prove herself at every turn.

When she thought about it, Hermione felt a burning resentment inside her, and yet there was something else, something almost like envy as she remembered the sight of Narcissa’s swinging hair and the unphasable gaze that threatened to cut any enemies down mid stride if they dared to get in her way. 

And now the dreams. Narcissa, and she supposed she had to admit that it was Narcissa, coaxing screams from her lips as she curled her fingers inside her. The images were remarkably vivid given Hermione’s own lack of experience in such matters. Even once waking, the images were clear like a recent memory rather than the hazy remnants of a nocturnal fantasy.

As she dressed, she idly wondered if Narcissa was having the same dreams. She imagined Narcissa waking up, nightgown clinging to her, panting with the unfulfilled longing that such dreams always leave in their wake. The image left her tingling and she clenched her thighs reflexively at the thought. 

Hermione shook her head forcefully as if she could shake her mind off that dangerous path. Certainly, that was enough of that. Dreams were one thing, they can’t be controlled, but to develop a fantasy during her waking hours was quite another. She had to draw the line somewhere. Not to mention, it didn’t make any logical sense that Narcissa would be having the same dreams; Hermione couldn’t even figure out why she was having them. 

Clearly she was just going through some hormonal surge since she hadn’t had sex since… well, never and she hadn’t been so much as kissed in longer than she cared to admit. She resolved that whatever this was would pass as she forcefully pinned up her hair and got ready to face the day. 

*** 

As she stepped onto the London street outside her flat, the morning wind nipped at her cheeks. It was predicted to be a warm day but the chill in the air portended the swift approach of autumn. Soon enough, the trees would shiver naked in the square and the world would turn inside. 

Surely the world would mourn the passing of summer, but Hermione wouldn’t mind. Honestly, she’d almost welcome the lack of pressure, the fewer social gatherings to remind her that her warmest plus one was her illustrious job title. 

It would be nice to be allowed to be alone as one never was during the busy, social summer months. Of course, with these dreams, she wondered whether she should have taken Ginny up on the offer to set her up with one of the well-muscled women on the Holyhead Harpies. But she dismissed the notion as quickly as she had originally.

Every date she’d ever been on had been an awkward disaster. It seemed that no matter who she tried, everyone either idolized her as a hero or treated her like a perpetual child, forever the golden girl, too pure to be touched. No one ever treated her like an equal, like a human being. It was maddening. 

Besides, she did have her career to think about. There wasn’t always time for additional frustrations.

She sighed as she reached the Ministry entrance. Given the chaotic state of her brain this morning, it seemed like it would be a long day. 

***

“Ah, Miss Granger, just the witch I was looking for,” Jonathan Higgs, head of the Department for the Research and Betterment of Magical Creatures, said as he exited his office. “I have wonderful news about the Halloween Charity Ball. Come into my office and we’ll discuss,” he said with a cordial air.

“Of course,” Hermione said, lighting up. Although not strictly her job or department, Hermione had taken charge of the annual Halloween Charity Ball put on by the department to fund numerous government affiliated education and betterment causes. She had championed these causes from their inception after the war and continuing her involvement was one of the few aspects of her job that still felt satisfying after these five disillusioning years. 

Higgs smiled at her enthusiasm, leading Hermione out of the hallway and into the small room he was allowed to call his own. 

“Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Granger?” Higgs asked as he swept behind his desk. 

“No, thank you, Higgs, I really can’t stay long,” Hermione said, keenly aware of how tight her schedule was today as always. 

“Ah, are you sure I can’t tempt you? This is simply the best Earl Grey that you’ll find in London,” he said as if she could be that easily swayed. 

“No, no thank you,” she insisted and waited for him to continue with his news but he did not. Instead he continued to bustle about his office, getting tea, shuffling his papers. “You mentioned some news about the Halloween Ball?” Hermione pressed. 

“Oh, oh yes of course!” he said, plopping the papers back onto his desk. “Well, you see, I’ve been in contact with the TWGS.” 

Hermione furrowed her brow, not liking where this was going. 

“The TWGS, The Witches’ Goodworks Society, certainly you’ve heard of them,” Higgs pressed, pushing a recent issue of the Prophet across the desk to her. The face of Narcissa Malfoy smiled up at her, accompanied by the smiles of many other morally dubious Slytherin women next to a group of orphans that they’d apparently done something for. 

“Yes, I’m familiar,” Hermione said, sliding the paper back to him. How could she not be? It seemed like TWGS, mockingly called ‘twigs’ by her and Ginny, were positively everywhere these days. They were nothing but a bunch of purebloods trying to make the public forget all the nastiness in their past by hosting charity luncheons and wheedling donations out of anyone as desperate as they were for a little good publicity. It sickened Hermione how effective the whole thing had been. 

“Then as you know, their past few ventures have been remarkably profitable, and well, they have taken quite an interest in our upcoming event. Which is lucky for you because you are, as you say, strapped for time and this will give you a co-organizer for the event,” Higgs smiled hesitantly, trying to gauge Hermione’s reaction.

Hermione sat completely still, feeling a bit blindsided by this entire conversation. Although it did make a lot more sense why Narcissa Malfoy was here paying a mysterious visit three days prior.

“I appreciate any effort that you’ve gone through, Higgs but I’m afraid it was not necessary. I have no need of and frankly, no desire for a co-organizer,” Hermione said after a moment of silence.

“Ah yes, I was afraid that might be what you’d say. And I’m terribly sorry, but it is non-negotiable,” Higgs said, dropping his more cheery demeanor. “Miss Granger, certainly you know how much I value you as a colleague. You have been invaluable in terms of reforming this department and establishing its course,” Higgs said. “However, funds are very tight as of late. The cause for creature regulation reform isn’t as trendy as it once was after the war. People lost interest after the first round of changes finally took hold. You start paying house-elves and suddenly they think there is no more work to be done. TWGS could really bring some much needed publicity and interest and that’s not something I’m in a position to refuse.”

Hermione faced him silently, weighing her options. As a senior prosecutor, she carried a lot of weight around here, but not more than a department head. Not to mention, the charitable works weren’t even an official part of her job. The decision simply wasn’t hers to make. “Fine,” she finally acquiesced. “So which of these ‘good witches’ has been tapped as my co-organizer?” 

“Narcissa Malfoy herself wishes to be involved,” Higgs said proudly, clearly relaxing now that Hermione was on board, no matter how begrudgingly.

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Narcissa Malfoy? Surely, not… “ Hermione began. 

“I was surprised as well, I had no idea she took such a hands on role in the society. Anyway, I told her that your people would reach out about setting up the first meeting,” Higgs said, abruptly rising from his chair and talking quickly enough that Hermione had no hope of interrupting him. “Well, as lovely as it has been to chat, Hermione, I really must be off. Constant meetings, you know” he said and hurried her from the room, heading off down the hallway with a firm and final goodbye. 

Hermione sighed heavily, thinking of the unexpected ramifications of only passing Narcissa in the hallway. Now she’d be ‘reaching out’ about setting up a meeting. Her whole body tensed at the thought as she slumped back to her office, forgetting wherever she had been heading prior to the incident. 

_**September 8th** _

On the day of the first meeting with Narcissa, Hermione woke with a cold and creeping sense of dread growing in her. It had been a long time since she’d actually felt nervous to go to work. But then again, she’d never had a meeting with someone about whom she’d been having graphic sex dreams for over a week. Which was stressful enough without remembering how hard it would be to be professionally pleasant given how heartily she disapproved of the woman and her purchased rehabilitation. It was a wonder that her relationship with Narcissa was so complicated when she couldn’t consciously remember ever having exchanged more than a few words with the woman at any given time.

She spent most of the morning trying to tell herself to forget about the dreams at the very least. They were clearly just some strange combination of thoughts in her brain that happened to manifest in this manner. Certainly, she wasn’t actually attracted to Narcissa Malfoy. Therefore, it was nothing to worry about. At this conclusion, Hermione would nod her head to herself, thinking that this logic made perfect sense. However, logical or not, it did little to assuage her nerves as the morning drew on. 

Her dread only grew exponentially with every minute that passed until 1:00 when her secretary poked her head into Hermione’s office. “Mrs. Malfoy is here to see you,” she said simply, unaware of the cold chill that she was causing to run down Hermione’s spine. 

Hermione took a breath and tried to calm herself. “Of course, please show her in,” she said. 

Narcissa breezed into the office, the image of casual elegance in her floor length dark robes. Hermione observed that no matter how many years passed, no matter how much happened within those years, Narcissa always managed to look like a queen surveying her kingdom, unaccepting of any notion of having been dethroned. 

“Mrs. Malfoy, please come in,” Hermione said, extending her hand. Normally she would have said “nice to see you again,” or ‘I’m so happy that you are joining the team,” but she couldn’t make herself say either. 

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa said, taking Hermione’s hand momentarily in greeting before seating herself at the other side of Hermione’s desk. 

Hermione busied herself getting her pertinent records out for discussion. She felt Narcissa’s eyes resting on her, analyzing her, and she felt unreasonably out of sorts under her gaze. 

When she finally extracted herself from her file cabinet and turned around with her arms full of papers, Narcissa was staring at her intently, a small smirk on her lips as she observed her. Hermione ducked her head to hide the color rising to her cheeks and began to lay her papers on the desk in front of them both. 

"I am pleased to be working with you on this project," Narcissa said, breaking the silence, “and I do hope that I can contribute to its success.” Her words had a hint of humility but the indifference in her icy stare betrayed that any humble feelings were expressed merely for show.

"This event has always been a success and I'm sure that this year will be no different," Hermione said with a friendly smile.

Narcissa's eyebrow raised almost imperceptibly. Hermione's meaning had clearly not been missed; she was not needed, and she was not wanted. But whether she noticed the slight or not, Narcissa did not seem bothered by the sentiment. 

“I’ve been looking over the financials from the previous years,” Narcissa began. Hermione wondered how she had gotten ahold of such things before their first meeting had occurred, but Narcissa didn’t allow her to ponder too long. “The incoming funds are certainly promising. However, it does seem that your outgoing costs are a bit high.” Narcissa’s tone was businesslike as she pulled papers of her own from her bag, certain numbers circled accusingly in red ink. 

Hermione paused. High? The parties had hardly been lavish, she often wondered whether she had been going too cheap, making it too clear that it was a Ministry affiliated event. Certainly, in comparison to what she had seen of TWGS’ events, her little affair could be a trip to Starbucks. Hermione stumbled over her sentence, trying not to sound as attacked as she was feeling. “I can’t imagine how we could have gone much cheaper while still providing a party worth attending. Food, drink and seating for that many people alone can be extremely expensive.”

Narcissa smiled patiently. “It certainly can. However, those very items could easily come from corporate sponsorships- the food, drinks, sometimes even the venue could all be handled without a sickle out of pocket. Certainly the high profile and charitable nature of this event would draw any number of brands who could benefit from the publicity.”

Hermione had considered corporate sponsorship before but had discarded the idea. The only brands that sponsored events were those who had a greater need for good PR than immediate profit. In the Wizarding World, still a post-war recovery economy, that could only mean pureblood old family establishments. Even if Hermione had wanted to plaster her events with logos of the people she despised, she had never had those kinds of connections, not like Narcissa obviously would. She fumed at the thought. It was so typical, the purebloods; Narcissa’s parties were twice as lavish as anything she could throw, yet they cost her half as much. 

Narcissa arched an eyebrow, awaiting a response from Hermione. It had been a long time since she had spoken. 

Hermione snapped herself free from her resentful reverie and tried to figure out what to say. “I’m not certain I would be comfortable associating the cause with any business so desperate for good publicity,” Hermione said, trying to re-establish the fact that regardless of Narcissa’s involvement, she still had the power here. Didn’t she? “Especially given the nature of this cause.”

“Of course, Miss Granger. Certainly you wouldn’t want any involvement from those you might find… unsavory. I can provide you with a list of those I believe would be interested and we can discuss.” Narcissa’s smile was polite but there was a glint in her eyes that made Hermione look away. Was she laughing at her? Mocking her? For the rest of the appointment, Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being scrutinized and found lacking.

After what felt like a lifetime of conversation, Hermione was inordinately grateful to hear Narcissa say, “It has been a pleasure, Miss Granger,” and turn on her heels to go. Even her parting words sounded sarcastic to Hermione, although after two hours under that cool, haughty stare, she wasn’t sure whether she was being overly sensitive. 

Hermione watched Narcissa walk away, taut black silk fading into the crowd as she reached the end of the hallway. Embarrassment and anger rose in Hermione’s chest as Narcissa turned back and met her gaze with a knowing smile before disappearing, turning the corner out of sight. 

***

“You started without me,” Ginny said, finding Hermione sitting alone on a bar stool at the Leaky Cauldron with a drink in hand and an empty bottle pushed aside on the table. “Rough day at the office?”

“At the office… out of the office,” Hermione shrugged and took another drink. 

“What happened out of the office?” Ginny asked, signalling to the bartender to bring her a beer of her own. 

“Nothing really, it’s just… It sounds so silly but I’ve been having these dreams,” Hermione started, pausing as the bartender approached their seats. 

Ginny thanked him as she took her drink. “What kind of dreams?” she asked. 

Hermione opened her mouth and hesitated, not sure how much she wanted to say. “Have you ever had sex dreams about someone who wasn’t Harry?” Hermione asked quietly, shifting her eyes to make sure that there wasn’t anyone within earshot. 

“Oh, that kind of dream,” Ginny laughed, but stopped when she saw how tense Hermione looked. “Yeah, sure I have, now and again.”

“What do you think they mean, those dreams?” Hermione asked. 

Ginny shrugged. “Well, sometimes I think they don’t mean anything. Just some weird fluke that my mind came up with. But mostly, I think it just means that I’m attracted to them,” she said.

“But if you don’t want to cheat on Harry, it’s not like you really want to have sex with these people,” Hermione said.

“You’re not always attracted only to the people that you want to be attracted to. It’s natural to have feelings for people who aren’t your partner, even if you don’t want to. Sexual attraction isn’t necessarily logical,” Ginny said casually. 

Hermione groaned and took another consoling drink.

“But normally if it’s just a one-off thing, I don’t worry about it too much,” Ginny said, trying to be helpful.

“What if it’s every night for over a week?” Hermione lamented.

“Damn, you’ve got it bad,” Ginny said, elbowing Hermione playfully.

“I don’t,” she protested. “I really don’t think that I’m attracted to them, I just…” but she trailed off, groping for some feeble excuse to explain away all those thoughts of Narcissa’s devilishly long fingers. 

Ginny considered her carefully, trying to judge what Hermione was going through from the sparse and vague details that she was volunteering. 

“So who are these dreams about anyway?” Ginny asked.

“Just someone from work, you wouldn’t know them,” Hermione lied, eyes shifting to the table in front of her suspiciously. 

Ginny smirked. “If you say so,” she said, taking a drink.

Just then, the door to the Leaky opened and in came Draco Malfoy and a couple of his former Slytherin mates. 

“Oh god,” Hermione said, seeing them. She took a huge swig of her drink and tried to angle herself away from the door so she couldn’t be seen. 

Ginny followed her gaze and furrowed her eyebrows with concern. “This dream lover of yours isn’t Draco, is it?”

“What?! God, no,” Hermione exclaimed, visibly horrified at the suggestion.

“Good,” Ginny laughed, relieved. “That would have been weird.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose, glad that she hadn’t been too free with the truth as she was sharing her problems. She couldn’t imagine what Ginny would say then. 

_**September 24th** _

The next two weeks seemed absolutely tortuous to Hermione. By night, she was having dream after dream, getting more explicit every day; Narcissa’s face was no longer vague but crystal clear between her thighs. By day, she was seeing her event be turned into a twig extravaganza, her annoyance growing with Narcissa’s unquestioned command over the whole thing. Between these bouts of unacceptable arousal and annoyance, she was pretty close to the edge of her wits and her mood swung on a pencil-thin string. 

Ginny’s words kept ringing in her ears. _Damn, you’ve got it bad._ Hermione refused to admit that was true. There was no way that she ‘had it’ at all. She couldn’t actually be attracted to this vile, elitist, albeit truly gorgeous woman. She struggled not to groan in self-loathing and returned her attention to what Narcissa was saying. 

“The largest segment of the profit will go to the trade school,” Narcissa began, making a note on her list of causes.

Hermione snorted at Narcissa’s flippant breeze over the cause. “The Dobby Memorial School for Magical Education,” Hermione corrected. The school was aimed at non-human magical beings who wished to enter a career outside of usual species-designated professions. 

“Yes,” Narcissa agreed, looking up briefly, poised to go on. 

Hermione boiled with rage at her indifference. “Say it,” Hermione snapped. 

“Pardon?” Narcissa said, raising her eyes to meet Hermione’s across the desk. 

“Say the name of the school,” Hermione pressed, rage in her eyes. 

“The Dobby Memorial School for Magical Education,” Narcissa said plainly, her face indifferent and unreadable. “Now, can I go on?”

Hermione couldn’t believe that she could speak Dobby’s name so casually, so callously without a twinge of remorse. 

“You’re unbelievable,” Hermione scoffed and turned away, rising from her chair. 

“If you have something to say Miss Granger, I suggest that you say it outright so we can stop extending this meeting,” Narcissa said, glancing at her watch, never even looking at Hermione who was now standing across the room in a challenging posture. 

Hermione considered staying silent but the impulse was too strong to resist. “I just can’t believe that you have the gall to stand up in front of people and talk about the need to fight injustice when you’ve been an instrument of injustice for the entirety of your life until it became inconvenient for you. And especially this, creature rights, Dobby’s school. You could not be more intimately related to the cause in the worst possible way. Dobby- your husband beat him, your sister killed him and you did nothing,” Hermione said.

Narcissa watched Hermione with eyes as hard as steel, no longer placid and cool but flickering with the white heat of simmering anger.

“Don’t you feel bad? About any of it?” Hermione nearly shrieked with repressed rage, finally freed. 

“You have no right,” Narcissa began but Hermione didn’t allow her to finish.

“No, I know. You’re a saint now. A real Mother Theresa, and I know you probably don’t know who that is. But the way that I see it, one of two scenarios is true. One: You have no moral conscience and this massive turn around is only for the PR because it’s the only way to maintain your status in the post-war social climate. Or two: you always have had a moral conscience and you never believed in the cause you were complicit in aiding. But you did it anyway because you did what was expected of you. You went along, you married the right man, you birthed the snotty heir, and you played the part that you were cast into knowing all the while how repugnant you were,” Hermione concluded, breathing heavily, feeling the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins. 

Narcissa rose from her seat, the silence heavy and expectant before she began to speak in a voice that was dangerously quiet and slow. “Miss Granger, I know that you like to make everything your business, but what I have or have not done in my life is my cross to bear. What I do to rebuild my life or how I do it is none of your concern. You may think of yourself as the ultimate moral judge, able to decree the value of us all, but life is not that simple. And I have no intention of justifying the nature or the worthiness of my atonement to you,” Narcissa snarled.

“But you want to tell me how transparent I am, you want to play that game? Let’s,” Narcissa said menacingly as she began to stalk across the room towards Hermione. “The irony is rich, don’t you think? You scolding me for blindly doing what was expected of me… you, the Ministry’s miserable little golden girl, rising to the top of her profession like everyone expected, everyone wanted. Smiling at their praise, but all the while, your pretty little eyes turning vacant and grey. Presumably because it’s all a little disappointing, isn’t it? You don’t have any real power, can’t affect any real change, or whatever you thought would come from being a cog in the Ministry’s sad little machine.”

Hermione opened her mouth as if to protest but no words came out of her stumbling lips. 

“If you really found your job so meaningful,” Narcissa continued, “you wouldn’t be digging your claws so deeply into this relatively small event, trying to wring a year’s worth of satisfaction out of it. But alas, you don’t leave, you don’t change because it’s easier not to. Because what else would you do? Because you can’t stomach the thought of everyone thinking you just couldn’t cut it after all. So you return to this chaste little life of yours, day after day, signing papers and trading in your youth and ideals for a pat on the back and a Ministry Achievement plaque,” Narcissa spat the words like acid from her lips. She was impossibly close now, glaring at Hermione with palpable rage, challenging her to continue the fight.

But Narcissa’s words had cut her and she had no response. Hermione wasn’t sure what she expected Narcissa to say when challenged but she wasn’t prepared for the conversation to be made about her own life. She simply returned Narcissa’s silent, angry stare, the sounds of their hurried breathing mingling in the air. 

“I am leaving, Miss Granger, and I do not intend to talk about this tomorrow,” Narcissa said, levitating her bag into her hand and storming out of the room and down the hall. Hermione watched her walk away, surprised by the quick strides that had replaced her usual cat-like prowl. 

***

Later that night, Hermione lay in bed staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t been able to calm down since this afternoon. In her mind, she played the fight back over and over again in disjointed snatches as they came back to her. Her own words mingled with Narcissa’s humiliating accusations in a confused jumble of memory. Her body was buzzing with the recollection of it all, and regret was digging its claws into her skin as she realized what an immature lack of self-control she had displayed. Her words had felt so justified at the time but now they seemed extremely harsh in a moment where such a reaction was wholly unwarranted. 

Hermione tried to reflect on her behavior constructively but her thoughts drifted. Regret was easy; it made sense to feel contrite after losing control. But if Hermione was honest with herself, her emotions were far more complicated than that. Behind the face of shame and guilt, she struggled to admit that a part of her felt exhilarated. 

It had been years since she had fought with someone in any real way, really yelled and let her feelings be known. Although some might say that prosecutors argued for a living, it wasn’t the same. She had to be forceful in her work, certainly, but her words had to be planned, measured out as precisely as potion ingredients, her stance politically considered, her tone deferential when necessary. 

There was no passion, fire, release. 

Anything akin to passion had to be kept inside, especially when it was truly felt. Frequently her job felt like a constant exercise in restraining herself, a tireless performance of trying not to scream.

Hermione knew that any scream, any display of temper would be fruitless. Half of her colleagues would cower and agree, the other half would sternly tell her that she was being unprofessional, hysterical even. Never would they argue their own side with the same passion and join in the fight. 

Passion. Fire. Release.

She saw Narcissa’s flashing eyes before her, smoldering with blue heat. She could almost smell Narcissa’s perfume when she remembered how close she had been, angry enough to advance upon her. It occurred to Hermione that she hadn’t seen so much as a flicker of emotion in the woman since the war. She too knew how to keep it all inside, but not now. Perhaps it had become too much for everyone to bear.

Narcissa’s accusations rang through the air. Chaste. Was it written so plainly upon her? At the thought, she felt a familiar tension between her thighs. She rolled her eyes at herself and turned on her side, but it seemed like the more she tried to ignore the itch, she made it stronger. 

Oh well, she thought. It’s not like she was falling asleep anyway and she needed something to release all of this tension. 

Hermione pulled her pajamas down to her ankles and slid her fingers past her stomach to the center of the calling ache. She was surprised to find herself incredibly wet and ready as she began to stroke her clit, falling into a slow, steady rhythm. 

Her mind swam through fantasies as she tried to think of anything that would help her focus. She cycled through vague images of celebrities that she fancied, searching for one that would stick. But the memory of the fight was too fresh in her mind, and she kept finding her thoughts back in her office.

Narcissa’s angry eyes as she rose from her chair to close the gap between them. Her eyes, her hair, her body so incredibly close. Hermione pushed away the image, but it stubbornly remained as Hermione’s rhythm increased and she felt the first twinges of satisfaction vining their way into her consciousness.

Her resolve to shake the memory’s hold on her was waning fast as she slid her fingers inside her cunt. 

Narcissa pushing her into the file cabinet and staring at her long and hard before taking her in a feverish kiss. Narcissa flipping her around and pushing her so that her hands were braced against the wall. 

“Don’t move,” Narcissa whispering in her ear. “Don’t speak.” Long fingers sliding down her stomach, undoing the button on Hermione’s trousers. 

In her bed, Hermione gasped at the jolts of pleasure sinking through her as her mind swam and the fantasy drifted without continuity.

Narcissa’s naked body pinning her to the wall. Breasts pushing into her back. Nipples sweet under her tongue. 

Hermione came with a cry she fought to contain. She lay panting on her bed, hoping that her neighbors hadn’t heard her scream out. Hoping that it hadn’t been identifiable as a name if they had. In the haze of orgasm, she felt exhausted, far too exhausted to feel any shame about the images that had flown through her mind, coaxing her to climax. For now, she needed to sleep. 

It wasn’t until morning when she thought of Narcissa and their inevitable meeting that afternoon that she felt her cheeks flush with the memory of the hand-crafted images that she couldn’t seem to get out of her mind. 

As if she didn’t have enough issues with facing Narcissa on a normal day, this was exponentially worse. She had gotten used to compartmentalizing the dreams to a certain extent, but she had crossed a line last night, one from which she couldn’t turn back. She could no longer blame her subconscious and claim that that it was all out of her control. 

It was all so overwhelming that Hermione kept forgetting that they had also ended their last meeting with a cruel argument for which she was to blame. She wasn’t sure that she could live down the shame of it all enough to speak comprehensible English or look Narcissa in the face. Hermione pondered how subtly she could sneak whiskey into the teacup on her desk.

_**September 25th** _

Narcissa walked into the room, looking remarkably serene in comparison to the fury in which she had left. “Good afternoon, Miss Granger,” she said before seating herself at her usual place at the desk. 

“Good afternoon,” Hermione managed with an overcompensating large smile. 

Narcissa’s mouth twitched at the sight of Hermione’s overly broad grin and she looked down to the papers, satisfied that Hermione would play along in pretending their fight had never occurred. “Shall we pick up where we left off?”

Hermione’s mind flashed to Narcissa’s body pressing into her own.

“With the benefactor allocation?” Narcissa continued, eyes rising, puzzled by Hermione’s extended silence. 

“Yes, let’s,” Hermione finally responded, a pink heat rising to her cheeks. 

Narcissa nodded approvingly as Hermione took a seat and they calmly went through percentages and divided up what would be received by which organization. 

Hermione considered Narcissa carefully. She marveled at how easily the woman had bottled it all back up again and was able to pretend that the fight had never occurred. But Hermione figured that she had practice; pretending that things were better than they were was a large part of her life.

Narcissa raised her eyes to meet Hermione and caught her careful stare. At first Narcissa looked tense as if bracing for another onslaught of accusations. But when she was met with none, her expression softened. She smiled briefly in a way that seemed surprisingly genuine to Hermione before returning to her work.

It was all very professional, Hermione only breaking her concentration occasionally to observe Narcissa deeply mired in figures and paperwork. More than once, Hermione raised her eyes to Narcissa to find their gazes would meet. Hermione felt a warmth creep over her as she hurried to place her glance elsewhere and try not to dwell on the thought of Narcissa having stopped to watch her first.

_**October 16th** _

The following meetings passed equally uneventfully. The calm remained between them, and any of the antagonism that they had previously expressed was now quelled under the mutual desire for a truce. They had grown positively friendly as the weeks wore on. Although their honesty had been brutal, there was still a certain comfort left in its wake that could never have been achieved through the usual tongue biting silence. Once made so harshly aware that someone sees through your act, there was little reason to continue acting at all.

A small part of Hermione almost wished to start another fight with Narcissa just to see her meticulous calm coming undone, just to feel that passion within herself once more. But she never allowed that part of herself any leverage. It had had its moment, and once expressed, it was no longer strong enough to take hold.

Pages of the calendar turned ruthlessly in an endless cycle of aching fantasy and tantalizing reality, settling into habit in Hermione’s life. Each meeting came and went on her busy calendar and soon, their list of tasks had dwindled to a mere handful. 

“Well”, Narcissa said as she finished checking off the final details with the caterer, “I believe that’s the last item on my list. We can call it a day and unless anything pressing comes up, I don’t see why any further details can’t be settled by owl.” Narcissa rose to leave and Hermione felt an unexpected sense of panic at her departure. She would have no reason to see this woman once she left and this event was over. Of course, a few weeks ago, such a break was exactly what she would have wished for but now it didn’t seem right.

Narcissa stared at her, waiting for Hermione to confirm or deny her statement as a courtesy before taking her leave completely of the office.

“Yes well if you think that… If you don’t feel there’s anything…” Hermione stumbled over her words, mind spinning wildly, trying to think of any reason she might have to disagree with Narcissa.

In all of her thinking and sputtering, she has gotten very close to Narcissa. Her breath hitched in her throat realizing that the familiar scent of the woman’s perfume was once again drifting over her. With a sudden rush of excruciating desire, all of Hermione’s rational thought processes were unceremoniously silenced. She met Narcissa‘s questioning glance. “I think I have thought of something rather pressing after all,” Hermione said. 

Narcissa raised one eyebrow but before she had a chance to ask Hermione what this urgent matter might be, Hermione lunged forward, capturing her lips in a fervent kiss. Narcissa hesitated, shocked into stillness by this sudden change, but in moments, she had her hands around Hermione’s waist, pulling her closer. 

Hermione thrilled at the sensation of her kisses being returned. Narcissa’s mouth was soft and hot, and the feel of long fingers trailing up her back made her entire body tingle with desire. Eventually, the kiss slowed and Narcissa pulled away, looking rather startled and flustered. Narcissa touched her fingers to her own lips gently for a moment and Hermione noted that the woman’s cheeks had become uncharacteristically pink.

Collecting herself, Narcissa’s lips curled into a small enigmatic smile and she said “Good evening, Miss Granger,” before she walked out of the door.

Hermione leaned against her file cabinet, reeling at the novel sensation. She couldn’t believe that she’d done that. Had she actually lost her mind while cooped up in this stuffy office? But, Merlin help her, she couldn’t quite bring herself to regret it, not while her body was still throbbing like this.

Certainly, it wasn’t her first kiss but every prior experience had been with teenage boys who had kissed her roughly, sloppy in their over-eagerness, too quick to shove their tongue into her mouth with no idea what to do once it got there. Never had she experienced anything like Narcissa’s kisses, subtle and dark as her tongue brushed Hermione’s lips, tasting her, exploring her.

Hermione loved the way Narcissa had looked at her after their lips had broken apart. She was flushed and flustered, eyes dark with heat. But then she had left. She hadn’t looked unhappy or acted offended, but she left nonetheless. The sudden absence left Hermione feeling as if the kiss had been a delusion, merely the next installment in the sexual fantasies about this woman that she had been concocting for weeks. But fantasy or not, she couldn’t shake this unfamiliar feeling of sexual satisfaction that had come from something other than her own hands. Perhaps now, she finally understood what all the fuss was about.

_**October 31st** _

Hermione regarded herself in the mirror and felt a swell of pride. She was hardly a vain woman, but occasionally she found she could take joy in the attractive curves of her body and the sight of her hair loose from its workplace updo, now twisting around her face in spiraling curls. 

Tonight was All Hallow’s Eve and she was as ready as she’d ever be for the Halloween Charity Ball that promised to be more of a spectacle than any other previous year. In many ways, it was going to be a trying evening. There would be large numbers of upper-crust witches and wizards that Hermione hated having to flatter and hobnob with, more so than any previous year thanks to TWGS involvement. Yet she found she was looking forward to the night in an anxious sort of way. 

She told herself it was the prospect of the financial success of the evening but even her most conscious thoughts couldn’t fully commit to that excuse. This was the first time she was going to see Narcissa since their kiss and she had no idea what to expect or even what to want. 

The rational voice inside her head advised that her only wish should be to keep her hands to herself and hope Narcissa did the same. The kiss was a ridiculous and humiliating lapse; Narcissa clearly thought so since she had left in such a hurry. If she had any sense at all, she would be dreading the moment when she had to look into Narcissa’s eyes and face up to her mistakes.

However, despite her best intentions, she ached to see Narcissa again. She’d missed their shared glances and the complicated longing to which she had become accustomed day after day, week after week.

The memory that lingered in her mind was not the disappointment of Narcissa closing the door but rather the heat of the woman’s lips pressing into her own, matching her with the same ill advised passion before senses could be regained and propriety remembered. In her most candid moments, Hermione knew that given the faintest opportunity, she would forget every bit of propriety she ever had to feel that passion once more. Half the thrill of dressing herself in this shimmering purple gown, cut much lower than any workday attire would permit, was the thought of Narcissa’s eyes appraising her in that cold, piercing way of hers. 

Hermione sighed and put her mask on, a glittery black eye mask with cat ears that came up just over her forehead, wiggling realistically as she moved. She smiled at the mysterious effect. 

***

Later that evening as she entered the ballroom, she was greeted with an array of compliments that she took in without much feeling, scanning the crowd for the one whose praise would please her. There, talking to the Minister, stood a masked woman, whose flawless figure and curtain of blonde hair was unmistakable despite the disguise. 

Narcissa glanced past the Minister’s shoulder and laid eyes on Hermione for the first time. Hermione felt her heart thump in her chest under the gaze, sharper than she ever could have imagined it. 

Hermione felt confident that she had achieved the desired effect. Narcissa’s eyes were positively glued to her body. Her gaze made Hermione feel vulnerable as if she stood naked in the ballroom, but she didn’t care, didn’t mind as long as Narcissa continued to watch her. When the stare was finally broken, Hermione felt shaken and giddy and headed immediately for the bar, looking for anything that might calm her down.

No drink and certainly no stale smalltalk could possibly make Hermione take her eyes from Narcissa as she talked, danced, and mingled, moving fluidly through the crowd. She was a vision in predictable black, her dress simple but obviously expensive, her mask an elaborate design in vining flowers that seemed to bloom, decay, and bloom again over the course of evening. It was beautiful magic and Hermione wondered whether Narcissa had cast the charm herself or bought it from some Diagon Alley boutique. Either way, the effect was spectacular against the black satin of her robes. She was a perfect vision of dark, deathly beauty.

As the evening wore on, Hermione thought that Narcissa must feel the gaze upon her, but if she did, she refused to acknowledge it. She moved through the night as if oblivious that she was the object of such persistent regard. Perhaps she was so used to being watched that one more set of eyes was nothing of note. 

“Oh, my dear, you have done a splendid job planning this all, quite the party of the season if I’m honest,” Mrs. Parkinson said to Hermione as she approached her from behind. 

“Oh, thank you,” Hermione stammered, caught off-guard by such a friendly address.

Much to Hermione’s dismay, Mrs. Parkinson’s presence only drew more twigs and before she knew it, she was mired in a conversation with four of them. It seemed like quite the inconvenience until Narcissa appeared to join in.

“Narcissa, we were just complimenting Miss Granger here on what a wonderful event this has turned out to be. Both of you have certainly outdone yourselves,” one of the women commented. 

Narcissa smiled and nodded her head slightly to accept the compliment. “I haven’t had the pleasure to speak to Miss Granger this evening myself.” She turned to Hermione. “I’ve been dying to tell you all night how much I adore that dress; it looks absolutely ravishing on you,” she said silkily, her eyes intense. 

“Thank you,” Hermione said, her chest swelling with joy and her cheeks flushing furiously beneath the edge of her mask. 

“Oh Narcissa, you’re going to embarrass the poor girl,” one of the women joked, seeing Hermione’s flushed cheeks getting redder every moment. 

Narcissa never broke her stare. “I highly doubt that Miss Granger is so easily embarrassed,” she said with a smirk. “If you’ll excuse me, I see someone whom I simply must speak to.” Narcissa turned from the group to greet a newly entered guest whom Hermione didn’t recognize in the slightest. 

Hermione took this opportunity to make her own exit from the conversation and she headed into one of the abandoned hallways to cool herself off away from the crush of people. She leaned against the wall and let her head fall back. She pictured Narcissa’s eyes, piercing her like steel and felt her cheeks getting warmer despite the cold air of the hallway drifting around her. 

“I thought this was where you’d gone,” Narcissa’s voice echoed in the vacant hall. 

“Oh,” Hermione exclaimed in surprise, straightening herself. “Did you need something?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Just a break,” Narcissa said as she approached Hermione and leaned against the wall beside her.

Hermione could feel Narcissa watching her and she turned to meet her eyes. In this moment, Narcissa seemed softer somehow, the usual layer of frost absent from her gaze. 

At the sound of the band starting up again from the ballroom, Narcissa smiled fondly. “I haven’t seen you on the dance floor once this evening,” she chided. “That is generally a very important part of a ball, you know.”

“Oh, I don’t. I mean, I try to avoid it if I can at this sort of thing. It’s unnerving to have everyone’s eyes on you that way,” Hermione said.

Narcissa stretched out her hand in offering. “There’s nobody here now,” she said, her one eyebrow raised in the form of a question. 

Hermione swallowed hard and thought about how she could say no, how she could run away from this, but she saw no exit and she wasn’t sure she wanted to take one even if it existed. Without a word of reply, she took Narcissa’s hand. 

At the touch of her fingers, Narcissa pulled her close and placed her other hand upon her waist. She led Hermione in a waltz, so graceful, so controlled, nothing less than she would expect from a Malfoy. 

As the music swelled from the other room and they grew more comfortable in each other’s arms, their dancing became more elaborate, more enthusiastic. Narcissa spun Hermione effortlessly and she arrived back with a breathless laugh. 

Eventually, the piece ended and the music began to die away. Their dancing slowed to a halt, but neither woman moved to separate. Narcissa’s hands rose to Hermione’s face and she leaned in, kissing her slowly, softly. Hermione moaned, the taste of wine sour and biting on Narcissa’s lips. At this encouragement, Narcissa pushed Hermione to the wall, never breaking the kiss even as Hermione gasped at the impact of the bricks on her back.

This kiss was far more insistent than the one shared in the office. It was urgent and hurried as Hermione’s hands clawed at Narcissa’s dress, pulling her closer, sighing as she felt her bottom lip encased in Narcissa’s teeth, pulling just enough to twinge in pain. Her fingers explored Narcissa’s body without conscious thought, glancing over her sides, her hips, her breasts. 

She felt lost in this moment, but even through the haze, she heard footfalls and laughter coming down the hall from the ballroom and Narcissa pulled away. Hermione’s body ached with the loss of her lips. 

Narcissa looked as breathless as Hermione felt. Eyeing the hallway from where the footfalls were approaching, Narcissa smiled ruefully. “It would seem that our break is over,” Narcissa said, smoothing her dress where Hermione’s eager hands had rumpled the silk. She looked at Hermione one last time with an unreadable expression and turned back to the ballroom without another word.

Hermione struggled to compose herself as she walked forward back to the event in Narcissa’s stead. She greeted the approaching wizards with what she hoped was intelligible words but she honestly couldn’t be sure as all she could hear was the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears.

_**November 1st** _

They were having an unseasonable warm streak and the evening called Hermione out to stroll. When she closed her eyes, the dark warm air enveloped her in a way that made her think of an after dinner walk in June. It saddened her to open her eyes and be forced to remember that despite the heat, brown leaves already littered the ground and the hour was barely 5.

Autumn always seemed much more final after Halloween, like the mystery and the romance was taken out of it and all that was left was time for death and decay. Yet this year, the mystery seemed to linger. Hermione was convinced that Narcissa was easily the most confusing woman that she had ever met. Twice now, Narcissa had kissed her with such force it made Hermione shake just considering it. And twice, she had turned away and disappeared into the ether.

Only one day after its occurrence, the interaction with Narcissa seemed impossibly far away as if it had all been a trick of the evening, some ghostly prank from the thinning of the veil as the Muggles might say. Worst of all, now that the party was behind her and its planning certainly concluded, she saw no way to follow up on the kiss. She couldn’t even fathom what occasion she would have to run into Narcissa again.

She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing annoyed business people to shuffle around her and give her dirty looks as they passed. What was she saying? That had been the best kiss she’d ever had in her life. She couldn’t possibly let it slip away from her that easily. And while Narcissa might be a mystery, her address certainly was not.

***

Hermione stood on the familiar steps of Malfoy Manor and tried to calm her nerves. She knew she was insane for what she was about to do, but she didn’t care anymore. Where had being so sane ever gotten her in the past?

She wanted to hesitate but now that the night had fully fallen, the air was crisp against the skin that showed beneath her coat. Any longer and she’d be shivering from more than just fear. She reached up with a deceptively steady hand and grabbed the heavy door knocker, letting it fall with a thundering clang against the door. 

"Miss Granger," Narcissa said with genuine surprise as she opened the door to the Manor.

"I think after all the time we've spent together lately, you should call me Hermione. As long as I can call you Narcissa in exchange," Hermione said as she took off her coat and let it drop to the ground, revealing that she wasn't wearing anything besides black lace lingerie. The cool wind wrapped around her body, goosebumps rising over her skin, her nipples rising to stand firm against the lace encasement that shielded them from the moonlight. 

Narcissa regarded her slowly, her eyes trailing down Hermione's exposed body and then back to her eyes. A small smile was playing on her lips and there was a glint of intrigue in her eyes. With the flick of a finger, she levitated Hermione's coat into her arms and stepped back, holding the door open to the foyer. 

"Well, Hermione," she said the name slowly as if familiarizing her mouth to the feel of it, "would you like to come in?"

Hermione smiled nervously as she strolled into the Malfoy Manor's imposing entryway. 

Once the door could be closed behind her, Narcissa strolled away towards the formal sitting room, clearly expecting Hermione to follow her. She hesitated, noticing that Narcissa was no longer holding her coat and she wondered with a jolt of panic where she might have vanished it.

Shaking the thought from her head, she followed Narcissa down the hall, a few steps behind. She caught her own reflection in the hall mirror: a vision in blushing skin. She shivered at the sight of herself and hurried after Narcissa.

When they entered the sitting room, Narcissa walked to the sideboard where a teapot and a number of glasses awaited. "Tea Miss..." she paused, "Hermione?"

"Alright," she squeaked in response. In coming here, she had hoped Narcissa would pull her inside, kissing her furiously in the foyer. She had feared the woman laughing in her face and turning her away. She hadn't considered a third option that included tea. 

Was there some way that Narcissa didn't see that she had come here without a stitch of clothing beyond her lace and her heels, she wondered nonsensically. But Narcissa turned to her with such a smirk at her nervous squeak, her eyes resting momentarily on her breasts before turning back to the tea. Hermione felt oddly more at ease knowing that Narcissa was playing with her. 

"You're lucky that I don't entertain as often as I used to, Hermione. You could have ended up with quite an audience," Narcissa said casually, bringing back the tea. Hermione took the cup and immediately put it down on the table beside her, sure that her shaking hands would not be able to hold it still. 

"I hadn't considered that," Hermione said. When she came here, it hadn't occurred to her that she would find Narcissa anything less than absolutely alone. 

"I assumed you had not. I hadn't pegged you as an exhibitionist, although you are clearly full of surprises," Narcissa said, her voice dark and smooth as bourbon. Hermione breathed impossibly hard under the older woman's contemplative gaze. 

She began to cross her legs reflexively but stopped herself and decided to spread them wide instead, giving Narcissa an uninterrupted view of her thighs, shimmering in the candlelight. "I want you, Narcissa," she said, trying to sound more confident than she really felt. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since last night. I’ve never been kissed like that. I..." Hermione stopped herself, realizing that she was starting to babble.

Narcissa blinked slowly at her as if fighting a desire to roll her eyes. “I would accuse you of flattery, Hermione, but I assume your comparisons are quite limited.” 

Hermione exhaled sharply and smiled sheepishly. 

Narcissa looked her over thoroughly but her thoughts seemed to drift. “I wondered quite often throughout the day whether I ought to regret what I’d done last night. The party and the wine seemed to have taken over my senses and… and I wondered whether my actions had rather lacked good judgement.”

“Oh, they definitely did, as have my actions so far this evening,” Hermione said with a soft smile. She was gratified to see Narcissa actually laugh at her remark. 

“Well that is most certainly true,” Narcissa observed, looking at Hermione’s incongruously naked figure in the middle of such a formal space. 

“I’ll forgive you your lapse, if you forgive me mine,” Hermione said, her gaze steady on Narcissa’s face as she pushed herself to the edge of her chair.

“Are you sure this is what you really want?” Narcissa asked very seriously of Hermione. 

“Desperately,” Hermione sighed, willing Narcissa to rise, to come meet her where she sat. 

Narcissa shook her head almost disapprovingly, but she rose nonetheless and crossed the sitting room to Hermione. Melting Hermione with unflinching eye-contact, she cupped her neck in her hand and angled Hermione’s chin up with a finger as she bent to kiss her.

The kiss was hesitant at first, less spontaneous than any other kiss the two had shared. But as Narcissa teased her lips open with the tip of her tongue, Hermione found herself moaning into her mouth. Narcissa’s grip on her intensified, fingers digging into her flesh with a pleasant ache. Slowly, she let her kisses drift down Hermione’s neck and wound her finger under the strap of Hermione’s bra, sliding it between her fingers. 

Narcissa moved her other hand as if to undo the clasps behind Hermione’s back but her fingers brushed over the garment teasingly. She repeated the motion, each promise to free Hermione from the lace left tortuously unfulfilled.

“Please,” Hermione choked out.

“If you insist,” Narcissa whispered mischievously in her ear, pausing to bite down on her earlobe eliciting a soft moan from Hermione’s lips. With a deft flick of wandless magic, Narcissa removed Hermione’s bra and underwear in a shimmering haze. For a brief moment, Hermione was distracted trying to figure out what spell she had used but her attention was quickly redirected. 

Narcissa pushed her back forcefully, the rough velvet pressing into the skin of her back. Hermione felt Narcissa’s hand on her breast, pushing it up, rolling the nipple gently beneath the pad of her thumb. Hermione feared that her gaze was far too eager but figured that the moment to worry about dignity was long behind her and there was nothing to do but succumb.

As Narcissa slid her hand down her stomach, Hermione gasped at the feel of fingers brushing against the lips of her cunt. Instinctively, she pulled her ankles up to brace on the edge of the chair and thrust her hips farther forward. At first, the pressure was glancing, gentle, but Narcissa was quickly becoming more precise. Hermione moaned involuntarily.

“Narcissa,” Hermione said, grabbing her by the upper arm.

Narcissa paused her ministrations and looked at her questioningly, waiting for her to continue. 

“Take this off,” Hermione pleaded, sliding the fabric of Narcissa's dress between her fingers. She thought she saw a moment of apprehension pass through Narcissa’s eyes as she hesitated. 

She looked around her for a moment before saying, “Not here.” She grabbed Hermione’s hand in her own and apparated them into a bedroom, heavily decked out in grey and green. 

Hermione didn’t waste a moment. She moved behind Narcissa to undo the laces of her dress. Slowly, she pulled the bow that held them and loosened the chords inch by inch. She bent to kiss the nape of Narissa’s neck and she felt her breathe sharply in response.

Without the ties to bind them, the dress was loose enough that Hermione could slip the straps from her shoulders and let it fall to the ground, revealing dark grey silk underwear against skin so pale that it was almost translucent in the glow of the evening fire. 

Narcissa turned to face her, there was a nervous flutter to her lashes that Hermione was not accustomed to seeing, despite how hard Narcissa was clearly trying to look composed without her elegant clothing to cloak her.

Seeing Narcissa’s nerves emboldened Hermione far more than she could have predicted. Now grown desensitized to her own scandalous nudity, she felt a momentary chance at the upper hand. 

She leaned in to kiss Narcissa on the lips as she wound her arms around her ribs and undid the clasps of her bra, pulling the straps down her arms until it fell free on the floor. 

Hermione felt the soft press of Narcissa’s breasts against her own and her body shook with wanting. She kissed Narcissa’s neck and trailed her lips down until she took the nipple in her mouth, swirling her tongue over it, the taste sweeter than sugar. Narcissa sighed in a way that seemed involuntary and Hermione smiled with devious pride. 

Taking full advantage of her newfound control over the situation, she angled Narcissa towards the bed and pushed her to it. Narcissa allowed herself to be pushed onto the soft duvet below as Hermione trailed her tongue down her stomach and layed a kiss on the last piece of silk Narcissa still donned. 

Without taking her underwear off, Hermione slowly began to stroke between Narcissa’s thighs. She felt the woman’s hips rise against her hand in impatience and heard a soft moan escape her at the teasing sensation of the muted touch. 

“Take them off,” Narcissa whispered insistently. Hermione lifted her eyes to Narcissa’s face and drunk in the sight of her splayed out on the bed. Her breasts rising sporadically with her deep breath, her naked body squirming slightly as she held Hermione’s gaze. 

Hermione smiled and angled herself between Narcissa’s legs, freeing her from the silk. She pressed into Narcissa as she bent to kiss her lips once more and felt thighs wrapping around her torso and a dampness on her stomach. 

Pulling back, Hermione kissed Narcissa’s knee, working her way up her thigh slowly, savouring how badly Narcissa wanted her to hurry but couldn’t quite bring herself to beg for it. 

Hermione felt her inexperience bubble into anxiety inside her and she wondered if she would be able to live up to all the anticipation she was creating. She tried to calm herself, remembering that she certainly knew the theory and she had always been a quick study after all. How hard could it possibly be?

She lowered her mouth to Narcissa’s cunt and ran her tongue up the length of her. Narcissa tensed and Hermione heard a sharp intake of breath as her tongue passed over the head of her clit. 

Hermione felt encouraged, and she tried not to overthink what she was doing as she wound her tongue rhythmically over spots that seemed to elicit the most reaction from Narcissa. She followed a trail of moans and whispers as she chose her motions, chose her speed, She even pulled away for just a moment, long enough for Narcissa to buck her hips, trying to end the infuriating absence of Hermione’s tongue.

Hermione glanced up to see Narcissa’s face. It was contorted in such a twisted expression as she pulled a pillow towards her cheek, almost as if she meant to bite it. It was a sight to behold, this woman, usually so composed, so dignified, now completely undone under her touch. The power of it all was exhilarating to Hermione to an extent that she would never have predicted. 

Narcissa’s moans had become more insistent, her hips rose and fell in shuddering circles as she struggled to move them. Hermione's fingers dug into Narcissa’s thighs and she increased the pressure of her tongue. 

She felt a hand shake as it fell onto the top of her head. The fingers wove themselves into her hair and pressed down forcefully. The speed of Narcissa’s hips rose to a frenzied speed for a few fleeting moments before she froze abruptly and called out in a strangled cry. Her back arched against the bed and her heels kicked into Hermione’s back for a few seconds that seemed to Hermione like an age. She slowed her speed gradually as Narcissa’s climax faded into a lingering panting breath and her death grip on Hermione’s hair relaxed, letting her pull away from her location. 

Narcissa pulled her up and kissed her in a way that felt far less guarded than any other kiss they had shared. Hermione could feel Narcissa’s frantic heartbeat beneath the breasts that pressed against her and felt immensely satisfied at the effect she had produced. 

Hermione pulled away from Narcissa’s kiss and let her lips trail down the woman’s jawline. 

“Oh,” Narcissa panted and she put a hand to her head, starting to recall herself a bit. 

Hermione laughed softly at Narcissa’s state as she raised her eyes to look her in the face. Narcissa laughed too in self-consciousness. 

“You’re… surprisingly good at that,” Narcissa said, a bit of her mocking smile returning to her eyes. “I didn’t expect you to know what you were doing, no offense intended.”

Hermione smiled knowingly but kept her secrets to herself as she rolled onto her back beside Narcissa. 

Narcissa propped herself up on her elbow and slid her fingers up and down Hermione’s forearm as she watched her. “Downstairs, you stopped me before you came, and I do hate to be in anyone’s debt,” she said with a smirk. 

Hermione’s heart beat wildly at the hungry look in Narcissa’s eyes. She dutifully followed orders as Narcissa’s hand came to rest on her inner thigh and she said, “Spread your legs,” without any question of being disobeyed. 

Narcissa resumed the motions that Hermione had so foolishly stopped her from completing downstairs. She found Hermione swollen and throbbing under her touch. Hermione felt Narcissa’s touch wind down to circle her opening before sliding two fingers inside of her, curling into her with a force and speed that made her cry out, thrusting her hips to match Narcissa’s rhythm.

She groped for something to hold onto, feeling that she might black out without something to ground her. Narcissa’s mouth met hers and Hermione grabbed her face with such force that Narcissa reached for her with her free hand, twining their fingers together and stroking Hermione’s thumb to calm her.

As Narcissa pulled away from the kiss, Hermione felt Narcissa’s hot breath on her stomach as she trailed her tongue down to pick up where her fingers had left off. Time meant nothing under the press of Narcissa’s mouth and after what might have been a minute or an eon lost, Hermione contracted in a scream, squeezing Narcissa’s hand so hard it had to have hurt.

Hermione leaned back into the dark silk surrounding her. She needed a moment to collect herself. Maybe more than one, and Narcissa seemed perfectly willing to allow her that. 

In a haze of delirium, she turned to look at the woman beside her, eyes closed but clearly not asleep. This thing with Narcissa, maybe it was ill-advised, maybe it had no future. If she was honest with herself, she wasn’t even sure what a ‘future’ meant in terms of the two of them. Although she briefly relished the thought of telling Draco she was about to be his step-mother, she doubted that was what any of them wanted. 

She reached for Narcissa’s arm, just to feel the tangibility of skin beneath her fingers. Although this was probably the least believable thing she’d ever done, it was the first time in a long time that anything had felt so real. The sex was almost unbearably good, but it wasn’t just that. It was because for the first time, it felt like someone was seeing her as a person, an adult, not just the bookish girl war hero as everyone else insisted on viewing her. 

Someone was giving her permission to have passions and emotions and release like anyone else. All the longings in her life that she had struggled to fulfill, struggled even to allow herself to seek were being offered to her, expected of her. Watching the contented breathing of the woman beside her, Hermione thought that perhaps Narcissa felt something similar although she assumed she’d never tell if she did. Not tonight, eventually perhaps.

Eventually.

The thought warmed her as she drifted off to a dreamless sleep. 


End file.
